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Description
(Forward note: This is about morality and thought experiments, so if that doesn't interest you, feel free to skip this one.)

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"Here's another riddle for you: The reaper has come to visit your town. He knocks on the door of one dwelling, and asks a simple question to the one who answers.
'I am the lord of death, and I have come to make a bargain. Give me your soul that I might steal you from this mortal coil, or I shall go to the door of two others in this village, and offer this self-same choice. Which option shall you take?'
Of course, being a sensible person, you might have some questions of your own before you decide. I'll take two from you now, in his stead."

The old storyteller leans back, quiet as your group sits idly around the campfire. The one to your left is the first to pipe up, a young man still apprenticed at his father's mill:

"Well, that's easy, isn't it? We could all just say no, and then when he runs out of doors to knock on, he has to leave, doesn't he?"

The wrinkled old woman effects her best imitation of the angel of death once more as she explains:

"The reaper replies with a sullen, tired look in his eye, as one who has done this many times. 'I bring with me my ox and wagon, which I use to haul the souls as I go from town to town. When I have visited every threshold, if my work is yet uncomplete, I regard its load. If I judge it to be lacking, I take with me every last soul, down to the child. But if it is a good harvest, I will be content and move on."

His face screws up at this, and he blurts out to ask how we're supposed to know what that means, to which the old woman only shrugs.

To your right, a old grey-beard speaks next - you think he used to be the trapper, before his brittle knees made him to lean on a cane.

"How many in this town have you met before me?"

"He shakes his head slowly. 'I cannot say. I am sworn to silence under the edict of heaven, an oath I dare not trespass.' Now, you know plenty - you see in those dull, sunken features that there is neither trick nor malice in his words. The reaper is dutifully carrying out his appointed task; nothing more. He requires your answer."

The smith, a hard-working man of strong convictions, answers quickly:
"It's obvious, isn't it? In an honorable town, one man will have to lay down his life to save the rest, and a wicked town will perish. You must accept this fate for the good of all."

The clothier, a shrewd businesswoman, retorts just as swiftly: "But not every man will be so devoted. We do not know if we're the first. If all honorable folk chose to die, it may just as well be that their death was foisted on them by a coward. Every coward lives, and they'll see the reaper pass with a loaded wagon full of all the wise leaders and upright folk. The town will go to ruin after all, with only the selfish remaining - it would become lawless and barbaric before the next winter."

"It could equally well be, though that the reaper is cut short and sent away - the more folks who are willing to die, the more likely that would be! It would still cause the least possible damage."

"You underestimate the selfishness of your fellow man. I don't want to start on our neighbors, but think through them each, even the ones not present here. Rigby, that quack who peddled off olive oil as medicine to the old mistress Danise before she passed - bless her soul? He may have fled, but I'm sure you can think of a number of unsavory individuals still amongst us, even without their names."

"And what? If the toll is unfulfilled, everyone dies. If you can't expect an unscrupulous man like that to make a sacrifice, who will?"

You've lost track of the voices now, as various voices - some you're not as familiar with, being a recent comer to the village - speak in turn.

"There need to be good, moral leaders left for those who remain, or the good moral upbringing that holds us decent folks together will die. Some who would be willing to die, must choose to be selfish instead, for the good of the whole!"

"You don't know it will come to that. And who would decide who gets to live and who gets to die? To take another's life, even indirectly, that would be tyranny!"

"If you lay down and take it, you're not doing anyone any good by that either! You think you're being noble, but what about the ones you've left behind? Do you want the streets to be littered with orphans and widows, starving to death in the cold?!"

"Shut your stinking mouth! If everyone was a greedy selfish rat, they'd be cut down just like one!"

Words jumble together as the argument grows heated. In the chaos, you look around, and the old storyteller is gone.

Description
(Forward note: This is about morality and thought experiments, so if that doesn't interest you, feel free to skip this one.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Here's another riddle for you: The reaper has come to visit your town. He knocks on the door of one dwelling, and asks a simple question to the one who answers.
'I am the lord of death, and I have come to make a bargain. Give me your soul that I might steal you from this mortal coil, or I shall go to the door of two others in this village, and offer this self-same choice. Which option shall you take?'
Of course, being a sensible person, you might have some questions of your own before you decide. I'll take two from you now, in his stead."

The old storyteller leans back, quiet as your group sits idly around the campfire. The one to your left is the first to pipe up, a young man still apprenticed at his father's mill:

"Well, that's easy, isn't it? We could all just say no, and then when he runs out of doors to knock on, he has to leave, doesn't he?"

The wrinkled old woman effects her best imitation of the angel of death once more as she explains:

"The reaper replies with a sullen, tired look in his eye, as one who has done this many times. 'I bring with me my ox and wagon, which I use to haul the souls as I go from town to town. When I have visited every threshold, if my work is yet uncomplete, I regard its load. If I judge it to be lacking, I take with me every last soul, down to the child. But if it is a good harvest, I will be content and move on."

His face screws up at this, and he blurts out to ask how we're supposed to know what that means, to which the old woman only shrugs.

To your right, a old grey-beard speaks next - you think he used to be the trapper, before his brittle knees made him to lean on a cane.

"How many in this town have you met before me?"

"He shakes his head slowly. 'I cannot say. I am sworn to silence under the edict of heaven, an oath I dare not trespass.' Now, you know plenty - you see in those dull, sunken features that there is neither trick nor malice in his words. The reaper is dutifully carrying out his appointed task; nothing more. He requires your answer."

The smith, a hard-working man of strong convictions, answers quickly:
"It's obvious, isn't it? In an honorable town, one man will have to lay down his life to save the rest, and a wicked town will perish. You must accept this fate for the good of all."

The clothier, a shrewd businesswoman, retorts just as swiftly: "But not every man will be so devoted. We do not know if we're the first. If all honorable folk chose to die, it may just as well be that their death was foisted on them by a coward. Every coward lives, and they'll see the reaper pass with a loaded wagon full of all the wise leaders and upright folk. The town will go to ruin after all, with only the selfish remaining - it would become lawless and barbaric before the next winter."

"It could equally well be, though that the reaper is cut short and sent away - the more folks who are willing to die, the more likely that would be! It would still cause the least possible damage."

"You underestimate the selfishness of your fellow man. I don't want to start on our neighbors, but think through them each, even the ones not present here. Rigby, that quack who peddled off olive oil as medicine to the old mistress Danise before she passed - bless her soul? He may have fled, but I'm sure you can think of a number of unsavory individuals still amongst us, even without their names."

"And what? If the toll is unfulfilled, everyone dies. If you can't expect an unscrupulous man like that to make a sacrifice, who will?"

You've lost track of the voices now, as various voices - some you're not as familiar with, being a recent comer to the village - speak in turn.

"There need to be good, moral leaders left for those who remain, or the good moral upbringing that holds us decent folks together will die. Some who would be willing to die, must choose to be selfish instead, for the good of the whole!"

"You don't know it will come to that. And who would decide who gets to live and who gets to die? To take another's life, even indirectly, that would be tyranny!"

"If you lay down and take it, you're not doing anyone any good by that either! You think you're being noble, but what about the ones you've left behind? Do you want the streets to be littered with orphans and widows, starving to death in the cold?!"

"Shut your stinking mouth! If everyone was a greedy selfish rat, they'd be cut down just like one!"

Words jumble together as the argument grows heated. In the chaos, you look around, and the old storyteller is gone.